Make and Break of Helena Ravenclaw
by AvXiMo
Summary: What happens when one's materialistic desire takes over their conscience? Helena Ravenclaw has hated Rowena Ravenclaw, her mother, for one sole reason: her perfection. Join Helena as she attempts to steal her mother's diadem, and escapes to Albania.
1. The Idea

**AN: Hey there! This story was originally posted on the Harry Potter fan pages I admin on Facebook, and then on Wattpad, and was suggested to post it here too. So I hope you enjoy! I have a passion for writing, and would hence appreciate constructive criticism. Please note that English is NOT my first language, and so I may have made some mistakes even though I've spell-checked every chapter. Please review. I'd love to hear what you all think! ^_^**

Chapter 1: -

Helena watched her mother descend gracefully down the grand staircase with a pang of jealousy in her heart. Her mother was better fitted out than her.

"Rowena, how beautiful you look! Would you like to dance with me?" said Godric Gryffindor, holding out his hand.

"Oh Godric, you are ever so flattering," said her mother. She took his hand and as though on command, the music began.

Even though she had tried all the magical enchantments she could find to fix her hair more beautifully than her mother, yet her mother, who had tied her hair merely using a velvet blue ribbon— the Muggle way— was being courted while nobody looked at Helena, younger, smarter, and more charming than her mother.

It was a day before Hogwarts would open its doors to its second year, and yet again the four founders of Hogwarts— her mother, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor— would spread their arms to welcome students, old and new. A last day of dance before a year full of exams.

Helena went to her mother and tapped her on the back, saying, "I'm going to my room." for she could not wait to escape the Great Hall, from the so-happy people inside it oblivious to her beauty, and get inside her room.

"Why, Helena? The party has just begun!" her mother asked.

"Mother, I do not feel well," Helena replied, turned, and strode away from her mother.

"Alright, Helena. Take care, dear; choose wisely"

Her mother's words reached out to her even as she made her way to the secret entrance that led to the founder's resting rooms.

Choose wisely.

The same kind advice in the same kind voice. She hated them so much.

Helena sat on her bed, still in her silver dress, listening to the distant sounds of the party. The tower her room was in was exactly opposite to the Great Hall, its walls muffling any sound originating within the castle. Even if half of the castle blew apart, all that she would be able to hear would be the sound of a Remembrall falling on the heavily carpeted floor. That was, of course, presuming the part that blew apart didn't include her.

Helena wiped her tears with the frills on her sleeves, and thought, "What do I lack? I have all the qualities required to outshine any witch that walks the face of this planet— grace, elegance, etiquette, finesse, beauty, calm and charm, I even have my mother's — …do I?"

And suddenly, she understood—

That to become perfect, she would have to become smarter than her own mother.

She paced up and down the room, ideas whirling in her mind. She could look for a spell…or an exercise, perhaps? She thought of her mother, the look of calmness on her face, her eyes gleaming with kindness, almost like beads…and the diadem. The ornament that always perched on her head, as though it was made only for its wearer, it had become part and parcel of her image…till now. Amazed by how quickly she had riddled it out, she recollected…the diadem was supposed to give wisdom to its wearer, right? She had heard this when she had gone down to an inn cum pub in Hogsmeade…One Broomstick, its name, wasn't it? It did feel slightly awkward listening to villagers gossiping about one's own mother, but she had joined them to pass the time, and a few free swigs of Butterbeer of course.

…Only if she could have it…

Helena stood up, a look of determination and a hint of thrill seeping through _Cuppycake's one and only, cake makeup _that she had used full two containers of. She made up her mind. She _would _have it.


	2. The Taste of Victory

It was the early morning of September 1, with the sky cloudless and a bright sun shining down at the castle. It was a morning that would make all witches and wizards stop by their windows for a minute and adore the ability of Nature to be able to fit in complexity and simplicity, together, and yet make the collision of these two worlds look so beautiful before, alas, losing themselves in the hustle and bustle of today's world.

"Such a beautiful work of God, isn't it, Helena?"

Her mother's voice brought Helena back to her senses. Helena had (absent-mindedly) been staring at her mother's diadem which was sitting proudly its cushion on the bed-side table.

"Er...yes. Mother," she began, "I have heard that your diadem gives true knowledge. Is it so?"

Helena felt nervous…her mother might become suspicious. Contrary to this, however, her mother merely chuckled, and then, came and kneeled in front of Helena, took her hand, and with the air of somebody teaching a child 'A' for _Alohomora_, said, "Sweetheart, true knowledge cannot be found anywhere. Anywhere but inside oneself. Keep that in your mind, dear, and you'll do just fine."

A kind smile curled on the face that Helena despised so much.

+++

"And why do _you_ want a Thestral?" Baron asked.

"That's classified, I'm afraid," Helena replied silkily.

Helena had enough sense (even without her mother's diadem) to make out that she would need to leave the castle after she stole the diadem from her mother's dressing table: which she planned to do that very afternoon. Which she _would _to that very afternoon.

"I need it by five in the evening." she said, and then seeing that Baron wasn't convinced, continued, "I know they are being readied to bring in the students, but it is _very_ important for me." She added a flirtatious smile to go with this.

"But dear, you'll miss the feast, what could be more important than that?"

"There are many more things important than sitting down and pigging down food with a bunch of morons you've never even seen," said Helena, miffed.

She absent-mindedly ran her hand through her hair, imagining an exquisite piece of jewellery that so many prized, that signified sovereignty and, adding to herself avariciously, all the knowledge of the world. She'd better get over with Baron.

"I have to go somewhere; will you be able to get one for me?"

"Don't tell me then…come at half past four nigh the lake and you'll find your ride," Baron finally agreed, but sounding as though he was committed to do so.

"Farewell, then," said Helena, and made for the staircase leading down to the basement, vaguely wondering of nicking some food, but largely lost in the ecstasy of the dreamt and planned glory of achieving her most cherished desire. She went down to the staircase, leaving a very morose-looking Baron at the end of the corridor.

She cast a glance over her bed again. It was immaculate. Nobody could make out that somebody had slept in it the night before . Her room was likewise, spotless like the HR suite, (named after her) at the _Leaky Cauldron._ She would be leaving in some time for Albania; she wouldn't have frilly perfumed beds like this there. But that wouldn't matter. She would be the smartest witch in the history of the Wizarding world, (quite literally) stealing the crown from her mother. People would worship her, ask for her blessings—and she, being the kind-hearted person she is, would oblige.

Yes. The good days were coming.

Taking a shufti one last time, Helena turned to look at her mother's bedroom, which was joint to hers, making the combined result's shape slightly like a peanut's. Her mother's half was somehow cozier, richer in colours and warming than hers. The mullioned windows across the walls allowed the sunrays to form a net over her mother's part of the room; over the dressing table; over the diadem that sat over it, its jewels glistening, a sort of sensation of pride, radiating from it and tempting Helena more than ever.

She tensed. Could she do it?

'Of course I can!' Helena thought, shook her head, went over the table, and delicately picked the adored diadem up. For a moment she thought it might blast, ring off an alarm, or anything dramatic might happen, but it remained still. She held it up, letting the sunlight fall over it, savouring the moment, and then lovingly held it close to her chest and murmured, "You are mine."

And suddenly it was over.

After casting her trunk to leave for her destination, hiding the diadem in the folds of her cloak, as she made her way to the lake, Helena had never felt better. Her mother, who would currently be with Aunt Helga (or _idiot _Helga, as she preferred personally) would never even realize that her diadem—_my _diadem, she thought, with fierce pride rushing into her body —had been stolen by her daughter herself. Maybe she would, but Helena couldn't care less.

Reaching the side of her lake, she found her Thestral waiting. She'd always found them fascinating. Helena stroked its black mane for a moment, and then gracefully heaved herself onto its silken back. She lodged her knees behind its wing joints, patted it, and said, "Albania, mate."

For a moment the Thestral stared at her, and then with a sweeping moment, its wings on either side extended, and rocketed upwards extremely fast, yet thrillingly. By the time Helena turned around to look at the castle of Hogwarts one last time, it was already shrinking. Sighing, Helena turned around, and as they soared out into the magnificent sundown, she was certain that this was the taste of victory.


	3. The Unexpected Visitor

**AN: Just thought I mention that I do not own Harry Potter. I just love it. Also, in this and the last chapter, you'll find some self-created spells used. Enjoy! ;)**

"Moimirior," muttered Helena, with her wand's tip touching the bark of a tree she faced. Tiny pearl-like orbs shot out from the tip of her wand, spread themselves onto the bark of the tree, and formed a vivid reflection. Helena stared at her reflection; her face bore a half-annoyed half-curious look; and above it, sat the source of annoyance: her diadem. Helena tilted her head slightly to the left, thinking hard, staring at her reflection, which did the same.

Frustrated, Helena got up.

Her mind was swirling with confusion and panic. _Why isn't this thing working? Isn't it supposed to grant wisdom? Make me the most knowledgeable being on this planet?_

Helena irritatedly took the beautiful diadem studded with valuable blue gemstones off her head, and slammed it on a rock beside her with unbelievable force.

"Dammit!"

_Okay, dearie, calm down. You can do anything. You own the world. Just calm down._

She heaved a sigh.

_Okay. You figure this out, you great magnificent witch. You figured out how to steal it, you'll surely figure out how to make it work._

Helena paced up and down the clearing which had been her residence for about two weeks, her mind still flurrying with affright.

_So…how to activate it…_

"Yes," she replied to herself. Helena picked up the diadem and thoroughly scrutinized it, looking for a small lever, button, or anything that might be able to incite the magic within the cherished adornment and unleash its godly power onto her. But alas…nothing.

"A spell, perhaps?"Helena suggested.

But _what _spell, she thought.

_Think, Helena, think. Has ickyRowena ever let out anything about this diadem?_ But as though the spirit of Rowena Ravenclaw herself had come to haunt Helena's mind, the only thing relevant to the diadem Helena could recall, was an advice, serenely given by her mother, and lavishly quoted by the local newspapers:

Wits beyond measure, is man's greatest treasure.

Helena held the diadem high; the quotation circled the circumference of the diadem in elegant wavy inscriptions.

Jealousy surged through Helena with such overwhelming power that for a moment she almost wanted to rip her hair out. (What a shame.)

She gripped the diadem tightly, and held it close to her chest. She looked tense and defeated. Her mind seemed to have given in to panic.

_What if somebody finds me? They'll snatch my diadem away...I'd be sent to Azkaban…NO! I have to hide this damn thing before they come after me…I can always come back, can't I? Yes, I can't let my reputation in the Wizarding world be tarnished..my status…one of the most desired women on the planet...it must be maintained…or else…people would insult me…who'll marry me then?_

"No, Helena, you might be able to save yourself if you act right now," she consoled herself.

She stood up, took out her wand, faced her tent (rather large to accommodate just one person) and muttered the words:"Reducio Maxima."

The tent immediately reduced down…smaller…and smaller, till it seemed to have shrunk into nothingness. It would have been impossible to locate the tent's exact location otherwise, but Helena smartly went to the spot where the tent had been standing a few moments ago, bent, and picked up a miniature model of the tent she had been sleeping in for the last two weeks. Helena quickly stuffed it into the pocket of her robes. The canvass top still bore a fiery cross.

_Now, the diadem._

She glanced around. Spotting the oldest tree of all, her heart's pace quickened._Yes, Helena, yes. Do it. It's the right time._

Helena strode to the tree, her wand in one hand, and her diadem in another. Helena felt the bark's surface with her fingertips until she found the spot with the biggest natural depression. Helena backed. She braced herself, with her wand pointing right at the right at the spot. Furtively, as though scared the animals of the forest might hear the incantation and tip her off to the Ministry, she murmured," Elohaekam."

With a shudder, the depression seemed to sink in until it formed a little hole. Helena grasped the diadem in her hands, and stared at it admiringly. After a moment, Helena delicately placed the diadem in its little hole, its new home…its new throne.

There was rustling of leaves. A few twigs broke somewhere close. Helena froze in terror.

And suddenly it was all around her. It seemed like someone—or something, Helena thought, full of horror—was rapidly approaching the clearing. Terrorized by the thought of what she was to face, Helena quickly covered the hollowed part of the tree with broken branches and dry leaves of the ground.

With the footfalls nearing the clearing at a rate that made Helena's heart throb with panic; and the trees seeming to close in on her in a way that the sunlight could not anymore creep though the branches and leaves, Helena could not think of doing anything, but hope for the best. +++

The footfalls slowed down. Helena could hear panting nearby. A bit more of that unnerving crunching of leaves, a bit more of twigs breaking. _Crunchh…crunch…chrunchh…chrunchh_. The bushes in front of Helena parted, and Baron entered the clearing.

"Well, well. Look who we have here!" Baron exclaimed with the look of triumph of a hunter having cornered their prey. He looked worn-out: his clothes were dirty, his shirt ripped, deep cuts on his face, dark circles under his eyes. He seemed to have left the Castle's comforts too.

"Wotcher," said Helena weakly.

"Where the blooming hell have you been, love? I've been sear—"

"Go away," Helena muttered, her voice as shaky as felt.

"What?" asked Baron, quite sure that he had misheard Helena.

"I said, 'GO AWAY!'" Helena yelled. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to calm the monster that was stirring with panic inside of her.

"Listen, Helena. I don't know what is up with you. Or why you left Hogwarts in the first place. But much more important is the reason I've come here for. I bring grave news. Your mother…is not well. Her condition is severe. Actually, to be honest, that would be an understatement. I don't think she has got even a week to spend alive. And at this kind of moment, she had asked me….to bring you back. It's her last wish to have her daughter beside her death-bed. And me believe me when I say so, it's a wish I have to fulfill."

Helena had never seen Baron so tense.

"Well, you can go tell her I am not coming. She can go die," said Helena, trying her best to sound as adamant as Baron did.

Baron's face bore a look of disgust and anger.

"What do you mean, Helena? SHE IS DYING! You can't just talk about her like that!" Baron said.

"Actually, you don't decide. She just so effing annoying and silly. _'Helena do this, Helena don't do that!'_ Who the blooming hell does she think she is? I wouldn't have cared even if she were the Minister of Magic! I've never lov—"

Baron stomped towards her, and tightly grasped Helena's face in his rough hands, and held it close to his.

"Please, Helena," he said exasperatedly, "Come with me, dear. Come with me. I beg you!"

Helena pushed Baron away, and fixed her hair, looking indignant.

"No, Baron. You better go back. I don't care a teeny bit about her, and her dying of sickness."

How much ever Helena was being bold in front of Baron, with a squirm in her stomach, she knew inside that it would be horrifying to face the other side of Baron. He was an angry wizard, who would smash anything and everything he saw when he got angry. Helena knew from experience that he used to forget about everything when he got angry. He could do anything.

"HELENA!" he screamed. He couldn't bear her foolishness anymore. In frustration, madness, or both, he held hold of Helena's long wavy black hair, and pulled them so forcefully that Helena let out a blood-curdling scream. Helena's shrill cry rang out to the depths of the forest, but oblivious to her yelps, Baron pulled Helena close, and in a voice that was laced with freakishness, he muttered, quietly yet dangerously," You will come with me, Helena. I am not requesting you now. I am ordering you."

With what seemed to take to energy of the universes combined, Helena finally freed herself from Baron's never-relinquishing grip.

"So…it's seems…."

Helena saw a flicker of madness in Baron's eyes. It dawned onto her. She had just made a deathly mistake. She could see the craziness shine in his eyes. Making to cover up for this, she said sweetly:

"Oh no, no, Baron! You're so silly." Helena flashed a fake grin and ruffled his hair. "Forget about my mother. Look at me, Baron! Look at your love! Don't you want me? Tell me, sweetheart, don't you crave me?"

Helena leaned towards Baron to kiss him, hoping against hope that at least lust would get him by her side. But Baron swiftly backed away...something was changing inside of him…she could see it…she could sense it…His lips curled into a cruel smile; his eyes burning into hers with a degree of malignity Helena had never seen before. His hand reached out to the folds of his robes, and with a chill down her spine, Helena knew it was time to run.


	4. The Chase, The Demise, and The Lesson

"CRUCIO!" Baron screamed, his wand pointing at Helena.

Helena dodged it just in time. The spell hit the tree a few paces away from Helena and instantly burned a hole on the tree's bark. With a sizzle, the surface of the bark that took the impact turned black; charred. Even this tiny, almost insignificant detail was enough to scare Helena. The fact that it could've been her skin that would've taken the impact of the spell had she not moved away was enough to distract her and make Helena topple on a root of a tree. What once was the forest seemed to have intensified into something Helena could only describe as a _jungle._ The air was moist, heavy, dense, and just sickening. Helena clumsily stumbled onto her feet and continued running, tearing her way through the dense vegetation, not daring to look behind. The heavy and loud footsteps and his shouts were enough to remind her of Baron's ever increasing proximity.

Helena took a sharp turn, aiming to distance herself as much as she could from Baron. She jumped over a pool of muddy water, only too late. Helena slipped, and with a splash, fell on the soft, wet soil of the forest-floor.

Her muscles screamed in pain; her calf hurt. She was certain she was to die. Right there. A voice in her head however, urged her on. _How can you die, just like this? You, Helena, you! You can't die __here__! Not in a puddle, by someone who deserves to lick the soles of your shoes! _It said.  
><em><br>_Helena's movements governed by her conviction, she—supporting herself on a tree— slowly got back on her shaking legs. She exhaled deeply, and started to run towards the hills, her only hope of survival; her only refuge from Baron. No sooner had Helena thought of him, did the devil make his appearance a few feet behind her. Helena shot a quick glance at Baron. _Crazy and mad, _she speculated in her mind. _And running towards me, _she added to herself bitterly.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Baron roared from behind. The ferocity in his voice made Helena tremor. But how much ever she was panicky, this time Helena was able to successfully counter the spell. Helena turned around. With an elegant swish of her wand, and the incantation "Expellibekar!" Baron's wand left his wand-hand's grasp, hung high in the air for a moment, and then snapped into two perfect pieces. By the time Helena had skipped over a log and glanced back again, it dawned onto her that she had elevated the horror of Baron's maliciousness to a whole another level. Baron had taken out a sleek but deadly-looking knife from the folds of his cloak, and held it high by its green-gemstone-studded hilt. The edge of the blade glinted in the sunlight, making Helena wince.

Her fears now compounded, Helena forced herself to continue running, trashing the branches that threatened to cut her once-supple skin, and fixating her eyes only on what lay in front of her. But Helena was getting weary. Her mouth felt dry; her throat demanded for water. Her legs were hurting from the running, and the bruised knees only slowed her down.

Helena took the decision of hiding behind a big banyan tree she could see in some distance. A distance which she was certain, if she would maintain the will, would be able to cover. It was risky, but a risk Helena felt the need to take. Baron seemed to have become tired too, for his panting and mad trashing had become a tad distant, even if only so, it relieved Helena inside. Helena parted the curtain of aerial roots that fell over from the branches of the banyan tree, and almost instantly collapsed to the base of the tree. She waited for a few moments, and then shut her eyes as if the blackness could engulf the horrifying truth, and cause it to dissolve into nothingness. Helena's arms reached out to cling onto her knees. Curled into a ball, with her head atop them, sat Helena, rocking back and forth at the foot of the banyan tree. She took deep breaths as she tried to stop herself from trembling. After a few moments, a major part of Helena's mind seemed to have shut down. She felt empty…but it was a happy feeling…Somewhere in her head, she pondered on how silent and peaceful everything felt, hadn't she been panicking a few moments ago?

_….Panicking…why?_

On instinct, Helena abandoned her previous posture. With her pupils dilated in fear, she listened, alarmed. _WHERE'S HE?_Helena's heart was hammering against her chest; she had a bad gut feeling that Baron was at an uncomfortably close distance. She responsively peeked from the drape of roots that separated Helena from the path which she had been chased down, her muscles tensed. But the noise, and the dread and the fear that came with it, sounded from behind Helena. The tell-tale crunch of twigs and leaves made Helena turn behind.

"BOO!" Baron's face that had been hidden under his stubby fingers revealed itself, almost comically. He chuckled maniacally, which only contributed to the bizarreness of the whole scenario. Helena had to admit, she had jumped a few steps behind. The fun of having scared Helena by playing an unplanned round of peek-a-boo amidst the game of gambling between life and death disappeared from Baron's face quickly as his lips twisted into a deadly smile. Helena stood rooted to her spot as Baron tutted, and whispered, his words dripping with a calm but unnerving freakishness, "You can run, Helena. You can hide. But at the end of the day, you shall be mine."

If those words were spoken to unhinge Helena, they certainly did. With a crash, through the veil of prop roots, were Helena and Baron sprinting, the latter on the former's heels. Helena occasionally shouted spells at Baron, but for her, it was flight over fight. But this time Helena's legs didn't want to move as fast and steadily as they had managed to before. Wobbly, she turned to a clearing she had not noticed before. It was much bigger than the one Helena set her tent on. The glade was flooded by the sunlight of the afternoon Sun. In the centre of the clearing sat a giant, moss-covered rock, so flattened by nature, it almost seemed like a table. Baron's bloodlust had perhaps taken over his consciousness, for he was now shouting from behind, "I WANT YOUR BLOOD, HELENA! I TELL YOU, YOUR BLOOD!" Startled and terrified out of her wits, Helena tripped over, and fell, face-down. _Oh, no, no, no! What the hell am I going to do?_ She asked herself, as she quickly scrambled onto her feet, making to flee again. Helena turned to yell another spell at Baron, but it would've been of no use. Baron grasped her wrist, and yanked her to face him. He crushed her wand as his face broke into a maniacal grin again. For a moment, their eyes met. In that moment, Helena saw that Baron had transformed into something so inhuman, so monstrous. The beast's eyes reflected the madness within the beast itself. In that moment, Helena's eyes bore into Baron's; in that moment, time seemed to have ceased.  
>But a sharp stab into the chest dragged Helena back into the cold, harsh, hellish reality. Helena looked down her bosom, and found the bejeweled hilt of Baron's knife jutting out of her chest. She lurched behind as she felt the pain starting to leech in. But that wasn't the end of Helena's horror, or the actual start of it, either. While she gasped again and again, suffering from spasms, Baron dragged Helena's diddering body and set it on the stone-table. Never did Baron's icy eyes leave Helena's as he twisted the knife coldheartedly, again and again, as if trying to scoop out her heart. Helena was screaming, shrieking, crying, and begging even, for him to stop. But every plea only made him grin wider. Blood was gushing out of the deep wound, spreading over Helena's robes. Soon the bloody sight became unbearable to see. Helena looked up, and for the first time ever, she looked at Baron without a hint of arrogance, that haughty look on her face which it usually bore; only letting it mirror the desperate desire, the desperate <em>need<em>of hers to stay alive. Her fingertips touched his face, made their way down his forehead, tracing his cheekbone, and Helena uttered, "Have mercy..." Her voice cracked, and Helena barely managed to continue wanly, "Look at what you are doing. Look at what you are doing. Look at what you are doing...to me."

Baron's face shone with mirthfulness. But his mirth was wickedness. He just stabbed Helena harder. "Uhh," Helena let out involuntarily as the blade penetrated deeper into her body. Her hands felt the wide gaping wound. Helena could feel the cold metal against her insides. She wanted to scream, but the luxury of speech had been snatched from Helena; Only choked groans escaped from her mouth. The whole of the upper torso of her expensive dress was drenched, blood-red. Diminutive drops of Helena's blood, almost appearing as precious shiny pearls, dripped onto the stone, and then splattered onto the ground before seeping into the soil, which turned blood-brown as an aftermath. Helena's eyes fluttered. She felt breathless. And hopeless. _Today I bleed to death,_she thought bitterly.

_….TAP—TAP—TAP…._

Helena's eyes shut…

_….TAP—TAP—TAP…._

_He's probably relishing the sight, __she thought._

_….TAP—TAP—TAP…._

Helena opened her slowly. The jungle danced right in front of her, everything wavy. Everything was a shade darker, as if being seen through a veil. Blood, tree, sun, Baron, blood. That was all Helena was left with. Disjoint pieces of reality she was going to escape very, very soon from. Baron was down, squatted, his eyes fixed intensely at the drops of Helena's blood that had started spattering on the ground at an extremely rapid rate. _….TAP—TAP—TAP—TAP—TAP—TAP….…. _All of a sudden, Baron stood up, the expression and the colour of his face changing at an unbelievable pace. He glanced at Helena, then at her blood-drops that rained onto the ground.

_….TAP—TAP—TAP…._

He began to tremble violently, something new showcasing itself in his wide-open eyes. Remorse. He backed away, never taking his eyes off Helena's mangled and bloody body. He lowered the knife, all the while shaking. His blood-stained hands ran through his hair as he frantically tried to put two and two together. He was soon puffing; out of breath. "Oh, no," he muttered, "Oh, no. Oh, no. No, no, no, no!" Baron yelled. He took deep breaths as he tried to regain control over his trembling body. "Oh no! Look what I've done!"

He spun around, and started running back to where he had chased Helena from. "OH NO! OH NO! I'VE KILLED HER! OH, LORD! I JUST KILLED HELENA RAVENCLAW! OH NO! WHAT ON EARTH HAVE I DONE? I JUST KILLED HER! I JUST MURDERED HELENA RAVENCLAW!" he screamed shrilly, and tore his way apart, away from Helena, somewhere deeper into the forest even he seemed to know not. He yelled the same words continuously, again and again. "I JUST KILLED HER! HOW COULD'VE I? I DID IT, THOUGH. I KILLED HER. I KILLED HELENA RAVENCLAW!"

As Helena heard Baron's shouts becoming distant, she looked down once again. _Mutilated beauty_, those words fit Helena perfectly. Beautiful, yet disgustingly mutilated; Mutilated, yet somehow still strikingly beautiful. Slowly Helena fell onto the ground, with Baron not present to pin her to the stone. Her cheek slammed against the hard earth. She remained motionless, numb as she felt a pool of blood spreading rapidly around her body.

_Is this really happening? _Helena wondered. _Is this true?_

True. Even the last few moments of her life, the voice of a women she had despised her whole life, all of a sudden came back to her, knelled in her ears.

_True__knowledge cannot be found anywhere. Anywhere but inside oneself. _Her mother's calm, loving and sophisticated reached out to her at the moment of her death. 

All the wise words her mother had ever said to Helena , which she had previously discarded as utter plays of words to impress the crowds, came back to her. But this time, Helena was able to claw out the deep, true meaning from the jumble of words that were droning in on her from all sides. It seemed to so obvious to Helena now. The simplistic-sounding words were merely adorning a deeper truth about life. About reality...about us. It had always been in front of her, she thought, yet she herself..…_how had she not picked up the message her mother's words bore ever before till the last moment of her life?_

Chasing materialistic dreams can never lead to true happiness. Everywhere in the world, we find quarrels, fights, arguments, disputes, murders, affairs, sins taking place by people for what they so shamelessly term "needs", that they fail to look beyond the immediate. Ever wondered for how long the newest model of the broom you want 'NOW!' can keep you happy? For how long can the dragon-skin bag you want / _need _keep you satisfied? At the end of our lives, the joy for these materialistic objects, and the vanity for these cherished powers don't accompany us. At the end, it is our inner happiness, the beauty to accept, and the power to extract happiness from the current situation that counts. If we'd taken life slower; if we'd paused running for a second in the endless rat-race we call life, would we find ourselves satisfied, believing that the replication of the wild blind-goose chase for mercenary dreams everybody around us has taken up as the only and the best way of achieving eternal joy? Are we running in the right direction? Are we running for the right thing? Is it worth it; Surrounding ourselves with indulgences, all the while being empty, hollow, and trapped inside ourselves? The ability to move on, with whatever we have, and not being distracted by pointless materialistic desires, is the real magic we all need to possess.

After a few seconds, the whole world seemed to spin in front of Helena's eyes_. Round and round it goes, _round and round, Helena thought. Blackness crept over from the sides of her vision, and began nibbling away the light of reality. Once it took over fully, Helena, oddly, felt at peace. At last the chase had come to an end, even if had brought her end along with it.  
>In a forest somewhere in Albania, in the centre of an insignificant clearing, lay dead the fair, dark-haired, beautiful witch they call Helena Ravenclaw.<p>

-THE END-

**AN: There! I hope you like it. Thanks for reading, and please review. :)**


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